Dante, son of Santa
by JaneGray
Summary: Dante is captured and trapped within his own past. Can Trish, Lady and Alastor rescue him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Dante and Trish were guest-stars in Viewtiful Joe 1, and in that game Alastor, the sword Dante fights with in DMC1, is given "human" form.

Disclaimer: do any of you _seriously_ think I own Devil May Cry and Viewtiful Joe? ;-P

**Dante, son of Santa.**

Hundreds and hundreds of people running in all directions, pushing and trampling each other. Loud noises and shouts and children's cries all over the place. Chaos and greed almost tangible.

Dante groaned. He hated shopping malls during Christmas Season.

Regardless, he had to go through all that to find suitable presents for Trish and Alastor, or there would have been an even worse Hell to pay.

He sighed, remembering the good old times, when the only person he had to get a Christmas present to was Lady. A real lady indeed, one that didn't care what you got her because it was the thought that counted.

Then, eight months ago, Trish and Alastor entered the picture, and the good times were lost forever.

Trish didn't know what being ladylike meant. But she had made very clear that she did know countless imaginative ways to break one's backbone if her present didn't satisfy her.

Alastor hadn't been as straightforward, but he managed to convey just as clearly the message that he would NOT tolerate anything not carefully chosen for him, and would hold a grudge for a very, very long time if his present was disappointing.

Sighing, Dante resumed his search.

------------------------------

Four hours, dozens of stores and countless glares from stressed employers later, the only thing Dante had gotten was a headache.

He needed a drink. A strong drink in a quiet, solitary place, where he could think of his next move. Leaving for the Caribbean and coming back in February sounded nice.

He left the main mall and entered a small deserted alley, looking for a source of much-needed alcohol and tranquillity.

As he walked, he noticed that the alley wasn't that deserted after all. His superior demonic hearing picked up a sound whose very purpose from the Dawn of Time was to draw attention and choruses of "awwww!": the sound of a child's sobs. He quickly spotted the source: a child who looked about five years old, crouched in a dark corner, with his face covered by his arms. Not one to ignore tears, Dante approached him, startling him.

"You all right kid? Are you lost?"

The child didn't reply. He just gaped at Dante, wide-eyed and completely still, holding his breath.

Seconds passed, and Dante started to worry. Had he petrified him? He didn't look that threatening, did he? He had always thought he looked gorgeous, the kind of guy mothers all over the World would point at when telling their children "and that's how you'll grow up to be like if you eat your veggies!"

Just when he was about to poke him to see if that would elicit any response, the child shouted.

"SANTA!".

Now it was Dante's turn be frozen in place, while the child went on with his rant.

"OH, SANTA! YOU CAME! YOU REALLY CAME! JUST LIKE MUM TOLD ME! I WAS A GOOD BOY AND YOU CAME!"

With a powerful display of will, Dante managed to utter a reply.

"I… am not… Santa."

"Aren't you?" The child asked incredulous. "But you look just like mum told me Santa does."

"I… am not… Santa."

The child stared at him in silence, carefully examining him. Then, he smiled.

"Of course! You're too young and thin to be Santa!"

Dante let out a sigh of relief.

"You must be the son of Santa!".

Dante froze again.

"Santa sent you because he is too busy making the toys for all the good children in the World and can't come. So you are going to help my dad instead".

Dante looked at the child, who was smiling from ear to ear and whose eyes were filled with utter innocence and adoration, and decided that a little white lie wouldn't hurt anybody. He cleared his voice, trying to summon a convincing tone.

"Yes, I am the son of Santa. You can call me Dante. So my father sent me because he received your letter. But I didn't read it. Can you tell me what it was about?"

"Of course! I asked him to help my dad, because the bad man took him away."

"Bad man?" Dante started to think that maybe pretending to be Santa's son wasn't such a good idea after all. He had the unpleasant suspicion that the child's father had been arrested by the police or something.

The child's expression turned very sad, and he looked like he was going to start crying again. "One night I woke up, and heard a weird noise from dad's study. I went there to see what was going on, and I found the bad man. He was all black, like a shadow! I rushed to mum and dad's bedroom to tell them, but only mum was there sleeping, dad was nowhere! When mum and I went back to dad's study, the bad man was gone. We couldn't find dad anywhere. Even the police couldn't find him." He was crying now. "The bad man took dad away. But nobody believes me, not even mum. We had a fight this morning, and I ran away."

Dante had enough experience as a demon hunter to know how dangerous a shadow could be. This was definitely something he should investigate.

------------------------------

The Devil Never Cry office was almost in order for the first time since Dante had started living in it. Trish had given up trying to keep it tidy during the eight months she had been living with Dante, as he managed to produce trash faster than she could remove it, so after much struggle she had finally decided that it just wasn't worth it, and that she could live with only her personal room clean. But Christmas was different. Especially THIS Christmas.

This Christmas was extremely important, not only because it was her very first Christmas, but also because she would finally meet the (in)famous Lady!

Lady, who fought by his side 10 years before. Lady, who despite her human nature managed to fight against demons. Lady, who Dante was so fond of. Lady, who was so beautiful in that picture with the newly opened Devil May Cry office.

Without realizing it, Trish ground her teeth.

Like Hell she would look like a lout in front of Lady! The Devil Never Cry office was going to freaking SHINE for Christmas, even if she had to threaten Dante with excruciatingly grievous bodily harm to have him not dirty it at least until Lady left!

Thankfully, Alastor was giving her a hand with the cleaning. With his help, she would manage to get the office perfectly tidy and adorned with Christmas decorations by the evening.

She was really glad Dante had invited him over to spend the Christmas Season with them.

------------------------------

Getting inside the study had been easy enough.

After finding the child's house, Dante had managed to convince the child's mother that he was a private detective, and that he may be able to help her if she just answered a few questions and let him take a look at the house.

She was very angry at her child (who, while leading Dante, had introduced himself as Andy Oltean) for running away, but she accepted with gratitude Dante's offer to investigate her husband's disappearance, and gave him all the info he needed, plus the permission to examine her house.

Turned out her husband was a perfectly normal person, an English teacher with no desire to become a demon nor to open a portal to Hell, and whose most dangerous enemies were the junior high students he used to give bad scores to.

Three weeks ago, for no apparent reason, he disappeared, without leaving the faintest trace.

Dante's search for clues went on for almost an hour, and besides the milk and cookies Andy brought him, it didn't draw out anything. The study was just as normal as its owner.

Feeling discouraged, Dante let himself sink into the comfy chair next to the desk. His eyes fell on the books in front of him. Not ancient or demonic books, just English books, the ones the missing Mr. Oltean used to work with. They were as normal as everything else in that house, and he casually picked up one and leafed through it, liking the well-thumbed pages with occasional small tears. He liked less the sharp edges of the pages, especially when he accidentally cut his thumb.

Cursing silently, he put the book down. The cut immediately healed, but a tiny drop of blood had fallen onto the desk, staining it, and he didn't have anything to clean the stain with. He went to ask Andy for a damp napkin.

Damp napkin in hand, Dante reentered the room. The stain was nowhere to be seen. And the little paperweight had moved.

Dante stood dumbfounded for a split second, blinked, and then looked closely at the paperweight. It looked like a normal paperweight. Just a rough, dark figurine of a crouched man, an ornament fairly common for desks.

Only usually rough, dark figurines used as paperweight didn't have shimmering purple eyes. And you didn't feel like you couldn't stop staring at them.

And why would one want to stop staring at it, anyway? It was so beautiful. Its outlines were becoming more and more defined, its colour the most awesome shade of black. Who cared if the rest of the World was becoming blurred? Nothing else mattered but the supreme being that was smiling at him, the most beautiful sight that had ever graced his eyes. His mind was filled with lulling tunes, his lips curled in a blissful smile. He felt at peace, so calm, so light, and so very, very tired… And he closed his eyes.

And then the room was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello sweetheart".

The beautiful woman stopped eating her fish and chips and turned to stare at the man. He was huge. And hairy. He had long hair, and was wearing a black leather vest, jeans, boots, and sunglasses. He looked for all the World like the love child of Lorenzo Lamas and King Kong. She rolled her eyes, looking for all the World very unimpressed.

"Leave me alone".

The man had apparently skipped the English class, as he took the woman's reply as "oh my, what a sexy hunk! Please, reassure me with your breathtaking presence, you strong manly man!", and sat next to her. Her eyebrow twitched.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone without a man?"

"What's an ugly big thing like you doing without a leash?"

The man had obviously also skipped the "no means no" class, as he took the woman's reply as an invite for S&M. He gaped, stunned by her boldness. Then he quickly resumed his macho pose, not wanting her to think of him as a pussy.

"You've got spark! But a real man can take you on anytime. Let's go somewhere private and I'll show you".

The woman's mismatched eyes narrowed dangerously, but he took that as a wink. She put down her fork in the almost empty dish (she hadn't really liked her lunch, but she had been riding for many hours, and there were still many miles between her and her destination, so she had had to take a break and eat something) and stood up, then walked out of the little restaurant, followed by the nervous and slightly trembling man (who was trying desperately to look perfectly comfortable with the whole affair, not wanting her to realize that the closest experience to S&M he had ever had was the time he had put a muzzle, a spiked collar and a leash on his aunt Linda's pitbull to take it out for a pee).

She lead him to a nearby alley, a dark and deserted place where the only beautiful sight was a big and powerful-looking motorbike, which certainly belonged to some tough and fearless man who defied society and lived by his own rules like a renegade, loved by women and envied by men. She stared at him for a few seconds (he felt proud that she was enjoying so much the view of his muscular body), then spoke.

"I'll grant you the first move. Show me what you've got".

Not one to make a lady wait, he complied. His pants were half-way down his thighs when the woman's scream resounded throughout the alley, followed by several deadly punches that knocked him out.

Blushing furiously, Lady straightened herself, let out a "humph!", got on her motorbike, started up the engine, and rode away.

"And I thought _Dante_ was a pervert!"

Dante. How long had it been since the last time she had seen him? More than eight months… At that time, he was still living by himself. Now, he was living with a demon. A woman. Most likely beautiful and half-naked.

That thought had bothered her at first. She knew she had no right to be jealous of him. After all, she _had_ rejected him when he had tried to kiss her in Temen-ni-gru. She _had_ had Dante all to herself for ten years or so, and during all that time she had done absolutely nothing to upgrade their friendship to a more-than-friends relationship. She _had_ kept on sinking his attempts to do so.

…Yes, she most definitely had no right whatsoever to be jealous of him.

Yet, at first, thinking about him living with that woman, she couldn't help but feel an unpleasant sensation, as if somebody had punched her in the stomach.

But she had gotten over it. Totally. Dante had invited her to spend Christmas with the two of them (he had also mentioned somebody else, an Alatros or something), and she was going to be nice and polite with Trash---TRISH! She meant Trish!

It was going to be a long ride.

------------------------------

Alastor was humming happily. Some might ask why he was so happy, since sweeping the floor while wearing a pink frilly apron is not exactly what most men would call entertaining. But his happiness had nothing to do with the chores nor with the outfit (although, he had to admit he rather liked the way pink made his eyes stand out).

No, there was a much more meaningful reason. The reason he had been in such a good mood for days, the reason he had left Movieland (albeit he had every intention of going back there to take care of an Important Matter as soon as Christmas Season was over), the reason he had put on hold his challenge with his eternal rival Joe (the Important Matter), was that, to his utter joy, his Master had finally proved it!

Dante had finally proved that he cared for Alastor! That he had changed his wicked ways of sword-beater and cheater!

A smile spread across the demon's face as his mind drifted once again to that wonderful night of several months ago, when his Master, after defeating him in a fair duel, realized how much of a mean and insensitive jerk he had been, and promised never to wrong him again. Alastor was so touched he had to leave in a rush to have a cry (though he wasn't _that_ much in a rush as to pass over a dramatic exit).

Unfortunately, perhaps because distracted by all that World-saving stuff, Dante had seemed to forget his promise, as several months passed without any sign of change in his manners. It was as if the promise had been nothing but a lie, and that thought had filled the Thunder Boy with bitterness and anger.

Then, a few days ago, the sign came. The undeniable proof that the promise had been completely sincere.

Alastor had been invited to spend the Christmas Season at Devil Never Cry, not as a weapon, but as a friend! And on Christmas Day he would be given a present, a real present carefully chosen for him by Dante himself!

The irony of a half-devil celebrating Christmas wasn't given much thought, and both Alastor and Trish were soon taken by their very first Christmas fever. There was so much to do! Decorate the Christmas tree, decorate the office, go shopping, choose what to give as presents, try to guess what presents they would be given, cook and eat delicious food, watch Christmas movies, listen to Christmas songs, spar armed with candy canes… It was tremendously fun, and Alastor wondered why he had never bothered celebrating Christmas before.

Yet, he had noticed that Trish's mood wasn't as good as his. While she was doubtlessly enjoying the Christmas activities, it was also very manifest that something was bothering her. And he was pretty sure that something was the soon-to-come meeting with the mysterious Lady, the woman from Dante's past that was to spend Christmas with them.

Alastor wasn't oblivious to Trish's feelings for Dante. As a matter of fact, one had to be blind, deaf _and_ dense not to notice her less than subtle attempts to seduce him (which often involved pinning him down). Still, his Master seemed determined to feign ignorance and avoid the topic as if his life depended on it.

That attitude hadn't discouraged the blond demon. She knew that even if Dante's mind could tell her apart from his mother, his heart would need a long time and a great deal of persuasion to do the same. But they both had demonic blood, thus time wasn't a concern. As for the persuasion, persuading Dante was what she had been created for (along with kicking his ass, which she considered an effective form of persuasion anyway), so she was positive that, thanks to her constant efforts, sooner or later Dante would realize how much happier he could be if he let go of his silly idea that she was somehow like his mother, and then there would be sweet sweet sweaty love.

She hadn't taken in consideration the possibility of having a rival.

When Dante told her of Lady, the prospect of losing him for good had terrified her brains out, and the empty space left had been taken over by the urge to prove that he needed her and that she could take care of him better than anybody else.

Alastor, who was actually looking forward the meeting with the beautiful and strong dark-haired woman, found that reaction quite loony. He knew Trish was sensible and intelligent, but right now she was acting like a fussy baby.

…Well, technically, she _was_ a baby. She was only eight months old.

But demons were supposed to be above such trivial details.

Still, he liked Trish, and considered himself a gentleman, so he had offered to help her with the cleaning, hoping to soothe her.

He finished sweeping the floor, and was going to start washing it, when he saw that there was almost no detergent left. Weird. Hadn't Dante gone out for groceries that morning?

He took a look at the clock. It was 5:12 p.m. Why wasn't Dante back yet?

"Trish? Have you seen Dante?"

"Hum? No, I haven't seen him from this morning". Noticing Alastor's frown, she added: "he did mention he wanted to take a stroll, and probably wouldn't be back for lunch…"

"Lunch was about 5 hours ago".

They both were silent for a while, thinking. Then, Trish spoke.

"If he left for the Caribbean, there will be Hell to pay".

------------------------------

"…Te…"

Far away. Don't care.

"…Te…Ante…"

Annoying. Go away…!

"DANTE WAKE UP!"

With a loud groan and a series of complaints ready on his lips, Dante opened his eyes and sat up.

He froze.

"About time. If we don't hurry up breakfast will get cold. Stop staring at me like I am a ghost!"

Dante didn't reply. His throat felt like it was knotted, his tongue was stuck to his palate, his chest was so stiff he couldn't breath.

He closed his eyes, kept them shut for several seconds, drew a deep breath, then opened them again.

Nothing had changed, except the expression of the little boy in front of him, which had turned perplexed and slightly worried.

"Dante, you ok?"

Again Dante didn't reply. He shifted his stare to take in his surroundings. The room was so familiar…

Forgotten memories burst in his mind, piercing thick layers of decades and denial, overwhelming it, taking it back to a long-past time of innocence and peace.

Shocked and confused, he turned to stare again at the little boy. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and a mix of rage and pain.

"Dante, it's not funny…" The voice was definitely worried now.

Dante opened his mouth as if to say something, but immediately closed it without a sound. Then, he raised a hand, slowly, tentatively, and reached forward, touching the very corporeal, very tangible form of the little boy, feeling the fine fabric of his pyjamas, the warm flesh of his neck and cheek.

The little boy didn't stop him, but his eyes widened with increasing alarm. He gently moved Dante's hand away and reached forward to lay his own hand on Dante's forehead, feeling cool and sweaty skin. Then, without saying a word, he turned around and rushed out of the room.

Dante heard his quick footsteps going down a staircase, then his voice shouting.

"Mum! Mum!"

"What is it, Vergil?"

"I think Dante's sick!"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: I'd really like to know why this site keeps on editing my documents when I upload them. It automatically changes the formatting and some other details, and won't allow me to correct them. Annoying.

------------------------------

As Trish struggled to wash away from the wall a particularly stubborn stain of blood (damn those heads!), she wondered for the nth time why the heck it had taken human women so damn long to break out of their imposed role of housewives, and more importantly why she was working her ass off like one now.  
But the answer to the former question would forever stay a mystery to her, and the answer to the latter involved a certain irksome scene-stealing brunette she would deal with in due time (Trish was _so_ going to put her in her place), so she shifted her attention to a more pressing matter: why the heck wasn't Dante back yet! she needed the damn detergent!

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door just as she had gotten to #27 of "101 ways to kill Dante" ("lock him inside an arena with a herd of raging bulls fed on hot chili pepper").

A knock on the door? Was she imagining things? Who ever knocked at Devil Never Cry? Most certainly not Dante. Neither did Alastor, besides he had taken a break and gone out for an evening flight only ten minutes before, he wouldn't be back already. The customers never came in person, they called by phone (which made the sign over the office pretty much pointless, but Dante thought it looked stylish, and she agreed with him, plus she considered it a sign of his affection for her...). Enemies wouldn't knock, would they?  
She suddenly realized she had been standing dumbfounded while somebody was outside the door waiting, the tiredness and stress really had gotten to her even if she was reluctant to admit to such a weakness.  
She quickly went towards the door, opened it in one swift motion and leaned outwards to see who that was.

Next thing she knew, somebody's fist had hit her squarely in the face.

That was it! A rival, she could take. Housework, she could take, even if she had come to believe that blowing up the whole office and then rebuilding it from the ground up would likely take less time than cleaning it. Having her very first Christmas turned into a battleground was just _so_ unfair, but she could take that too. But that wasn't enough, wasn't it! They, whoever they were, just _had_ to get in her way while she was trying so hard to keep the person that meant so much to her from leaving her alone!  
Making her already considerably bad mood worse was going to be the last mistake they ever made. Her mind flared up and her body instantly charged up to fry the unfortunate fool that had hit her.

Her fist froze a few inches away from its intended target, and a pair of mismatched eyes widened with a mix of surprise and alarm.

Silence.

The two women stared at each other, Lady wearing a most embarrassed "oh crap" expression, Trish doing an accurate imitation of a deer in headlights.

More silence.

Lady shifted her feet nervously and cleared her throat, Trish looked like a child who entered her parents' bedroom at night to ask for a glass of water and found them engaged in activities that involved a spiky collar, a paddle and a very odd stick.

Yet more silence. A tumbleweed rolled by.

Lady made the first move: "Err… I'm really, REALLY sorry! I meant to knock on the door..."

But Trish didn't respond. The shock of suddenly finding herself face-to-face with her rival, who wasn't supposed to be there yet, had quickly been replaced by a most horrifying realization: she, Trish, looked hideous! And she stank at that!

She had been working hard for many hours in a row, in the midst of trash and filth, wearing a cheap baggy dress and a ridiculous cap because her leather outfit wasn't suited for housework and her long blond hair kept on getting in her way. She was dirty, sweaty, and dressed like the love child of Cinderella and Little Red Riding Hood's granny.

Her panic-filled mind screamed at her to slam the door shut, desperately hoping against all hope that Lady would somehow magically forget the whole incident, but her demonic instinct firmly made her stand her ground, not let her opponent get the upper hand.

While she raced through her options as fast as she could, the other woman was saying something about a job in the city and "passing by to say 'hi'", and shoved something into her arms.

Trish finally got a hold of herself, mentally kicked herself for letting mere things like tiredness and stress and unexpected events slow her down that much, and invited Lady to come inside.

------------------------------

Dante couldn't shake out the vague but horrible feeling that something was very wrong. He tried to grasp it, to understand just what it was that was making his stomach churn and his heart beat so fast, but it was like trying to grasp water.

"Do you feel better now?" Eva asked softly, with a hint of worry in her voice. She had brought him a glass of fresh orange juice, part of his breakfast that had been waiting for him downstairs.

"Yes, thank you… mum," he lied, and a stronger wave of nausea washed over him as he spoke that last word.

Eva didn't look convinced. Dante couldn't blame her: while she was a very loving mother, she was never overprotective, she knew better than that; but it was so strange and unexpected for him to suddenly get sick, his demonic blood had always kept him perfectly healthy.

"I don't think a medicine would do you any good," she sighed, clearly wishing she knew what kind of effects a substance made to alleviate human pain could have on a half-demon, assuming it could have any effect at all.

"Mum, I… I think I just need to rest a bit…" Dante murmured.

Eva nodded. She looked at Vergil, who had been standing quietly all along next to Dante's bed, and he went to draw the curtains while she carefully tucked Dante in.

"Rest well, honey. Call me if you need anything."

Vergil lingered for several seconds in front of the open door. "Call me too."

As they both left, Dante felt a sudden, desperate urge to stop them. He reached forward and tried to call them back, but his throat couldn't produce a sound and the door closed unrelenting, leaving him alone in the dark room.

------------------------------

The first thing Lady noticed when she arrived at Dante's office was its sign: the familiar "Devil May Cry" had been replaced by a much duller "Devil Never Cry". Was it that woman's doing? But of course. Unlike Dante she was a full demon, surely she couldn't shed tears like he did.

For a few seconds Lady's mind was overwhelmed with mental images of an evil-looking demoness pretending to be innocent and kind while perfidiously tempting a helpless Dante with her scantily-clad body and sweet words to make him tread the path of evil, but she pulled herself together and mentally scolded herself for even thinking such a thing.

If Dante trusted Trish enough to take her in as his partner, then he must have had a _very good_ reason to, it wasn't as if he was a hormone-driven reckless rogue who lived near a strip club and kept posters of naked women in his office and hit on his female opponents as they tried to kill him!

…

Right?

…

…

RIGHT?

She knocked at the door before her mind could dignify that with an answer.

She waited for a while, but there was no response. Either nobody was inside or they were in the bathroom. Hopefully not together. Not that it was any of her business.

She was about to knock again, but suddenly the door swung open and, before she could stop herself, her fist hit something much fleshier than wood.

Also much more likely to murder her if the homicidal expression on its face and its upcoming raging fist were any indication.

Lady didn't have any time to react and the blow would have most likely crushed her skull if her mysterious attacker hadn't stopped dead in its tracks, its expression turned into one of shock.

What followed was the most awkward silence Lady had ever experienced. She had long since come to believe that she had an unmatched talent for getting herself in embarrassing situations, but _that_ was a whole new level.

"Err… I'm really, REALLY sorry! I meant to knock on the door..."

The would-be-attacker, a badly-dressed blond woman who looked (and smelled) in desperate need of a shower, didn't reply. No response at all. She looked stoned, and Lady fought the urge to wave a hand in front of her face.

"Ma'am, I'm a friend of Dante's. I guess he is not in the office now. He invited me to spend Christmas here, that would be next week but I got a job in this city tonight, so since the office was nearby I thought of passing by to say 'hi'. Here is a little gift I brought for him and Trish," she shoved a box of chocolates in the woman's arms, "please give it to them when they come back, tell them it's from Lady. Goodbye."

She turned around towards her motorcycle, anxious to put an end to that awkward situation, but before she could go the woman reached forward and grabbed her arm. Immediately Lady assumed a fighting stance, but this time the stranger didn't seem to have any hostile intentions, and her stoned look was gone, replaced by calm lucidity.

Looking at her now, Lady noticed for the first time that she was younger and much more beautiful than the dirt and ugly clothes had initially led her to believe. A sudden thought crossed her mind: _could she be Trish_?

…

Nah.

Not-Trish was finally talking: "Wait, why don't you come inside for a cup of tea and cookies? You must have been driving for a long time."

Lady _had_ been driving for a long time, and a break with tea and cookies sounded wonderful. Wonderful enough to overcome her wish to get the Hell away.

She hesitantly accepted the invitation, but once inside her eyes widened and she couldn't suppress an exclamation.

"Oh my God! What happened here?"

The office was _tidy_. All the piles of trash and junk were gone, the thick layers of dust that used to cover everything had been swept away, even the floor and walls had been washed. Lady couldn't believe her eyes. She had always thought that cleaning up Dante's office would have required at least rerouting a river or two.

Her astonishment seemed to greatly please the blonde, who was smirking smugly as if she had just won the first match of a contest and felt the prize already in her hands.

"Did you do it?" Lady asked, gesturing around.

"Why, yes. Well, a friend helped me a little," she added with a slight shrug.

"Wow, you must be one Hell of a housemaid!"

Uh-oh. Had she said anything wrong? She could have sworn she saw a murderous spark glinting in the woman's eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

"Four-hundred and thirty-six, four-hundred and thirty-seven, four-hundred and thirty-eight… Whoever said that counting sheep helps you fall asleep should be shot."

Being sick sucked. Dante had been laying in bed for what felt like an eternity, to no avail, he was still confused and nauseated. A good sleep could have probably put him back in shape, but how the hell could he fall asleep, when his heart was pounding in his ears and a voice in the back of his mind kept screaming at him that something was not right, that it wasn't supposed to be like that?

_What_ wasn't supposed to be like that? he asked, exasperated. But of course the stupid voice had no answer, only more frantic screams. Go figure.

He groaned and got up. It was painfully obvious that staying in bed wasn't going to do any good, so he might as well have tried a different approach. Like puking his liver out. Where was the bathroom? Slowly, shakily, he made his way to the door, fighting off the waves of nausea. Why was the doorknob so high? Why was the door so tall? Whatever, he just wanted out of there, just opened the stupid door and stepped out.

"Dante?"

"You!" Dante gasped, surprised. Outside the room, Vergil was squatting beside the door, with his back leaning on the wall.

"Who did you expect, the Bogeyman?"

Dante groaned and massaged his temples, his headache had just got worse. "Where is the bathroom?"

"…Where is the bathroom?"

"Yes, that's what I asked."

"You live in this house, Dante. You know where the bathroom is."

And suddenly Dante realized he did. First room to the right.

"You don't look too well. Are you sure you should be leaving your bed? Mum said you should rest."

"Mum wouldn't want me to vomit all over the blanket. How long have you been sitting here, anyway?"

"I didn't have anything better to do." Vergil's tone got defensive, Dante blinked.

"You've been here all the time?"

"Weren't you going to the bathroom?"

"…Right."

--

The cool evening breeze felt so good under his wings. There were no clouds, the stars were shining splendidly as far as the eye could see, and the moon was beaming like a proud mistress. Far below him, the lights of the city recreated the brightness of the sky, so that natural and artificial beauty was all around him.

It was the perfect stage for a duel to the death.

Alastor scowled. How long had it been since he battled a worthy opponent? Too long, that's how long. Candies, chocolate and ice-cream were delicious, but nothing tasted sweeter than hard-earned victory on the blood-covered battlefield. And it's not like he minded cleaning the office, but still, he was the Blade Master, not the Mop Master. If only Joe were here, they could fight to their heart's content…

Alastor had thought of paying a visit to his rival; if he flew at full-speed, he could get to the Red Hero, fight him, and return to Devil Never Cry before dawn. But, after careful consideration, he had scratched the idea: Joe was spending the holidays with his girlfriend and their families, and Alastor didn't want risk bumping into her twin sister Goldie. She always tried to touch him in his _special area_.

The Thunder Boy sighed. He wasn't a greedy guy. He didn't care for world domination or godhood or anything preposterous like that. He just wanted to slash and electrocute the everloving crap out of some decent adversary, was that too much to ask? He shook his head sadly. Then pouted a little. Then sighed again. Then crossed his arms and scowled and glared.

He was just about to pull out a microphone and proclaim his displeasure with a catchy mix of rap and blues, when he sensed a faint presence of demonic power.

Finally! IT'S STABBY TIME!!

Ok, so the demons in that city were pathetic pushovers, too weak even for warm-up. But hey, even a drop of water was precious to a thirsty man! And he might get lucky this time, they might last more than ten seconds and actually require some effort!

He gleefully dived down and followed the trail, filled with hope and optimism. It didn't take him long to find the source, which was merging chameleon-like into the shadowy alleys, moving with such skill that the human passers-by were completely oblivious to its presence.

It was a dark, lone, roughly human-shaped runt, its size about that of a monkey. No weapons, no fangs, no claws, no horns. Not even a little.

..._f-word!_

So much for luck. That grade-Z horror movie reject was pathetic even by the city's puny standards. It was _so_ unfair!

Meanwhile, the reject in question seemed to finally sense the presence of another demon nearby; it looked all around and, spotting the bemoaning Blade Master, hissed at him. Alastor snorted.

_Fine, _he had gone through the trouble of tracking it down, might as well finish what he started. After all, even the weakest demon could kill a normal human, and he felt that letting it prey upon the helpless passers-by would have been not cool. More importantly, it would have royally pissed off his master, and he could have kissed his Christmas present goodbye. _So _not cool.

"So long, sucka," and he casually threw his sword at it.

Usually, when he did that, his victim got impaled, writhed and rasped for a few instants, and died. He was a bit taken aback when the still-hissing demonling managed to dodge the blade. Sure, the attack had been half-hearted, but he used to be one of Hell's top assassins, he shouldn't have _needed_ to get serious just to kill such a small fry.

And not only was it a weakling, but it was a coward too: realizing it was screwed, it sprouted wings and took off to try and get away. Alastor chased after it, waiting until they got to a secluded enough area so as to avoid human witnesses or casualties, then he shot it down with a powerful lightning. The body hit the ground violently and promptly faded away, leaving a small object behind. Curious, Alastor landed to inspect it.

It was a black statuette with shimmering purple eyes. Ohhhhhhh, _pretty!_ Black and purple, his favourite colours! And the eyes, so shiny! The hunt had not been a complete waste of time after all, YAY! Ahhhhh, it was so pretty, he just couldn't stop looking at it...

--

Dante was shocked, and he didn't even know why. Why would his own reflection in the mirror astound him so? What was wrong with his own image, the image of an ordinary child?

Just then, a powerful lightning bolt struck outside the window. And for a few seconds, he could think clearly, and remember everything. Eva's bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, her sacrifice, her broken body laying in a pool of blood... Vergil's all-consuming quest for power, his stern expression as he chose to stay in the Demon World, to fall and be swallowed by darkness, his reappearance as the mindless but honorable knight Nelo Angelo... Devil May Cry, the hope, will and drive to make a difference... And his own self, a man with the power to make it.

The seconds passed quickly and the nausea and confusion returned promptly, but he struggled strenuously and managed to retain at least a few very important facts. He wasn't really a child. His mother and brother were dead. Somebody had exploited the image of his mother and brother for some sinister purpose. That somebody was going to die painfully.

He then opened the window and looked down. It was just the second floor, he could make it. Right? Of course he could, he had to. The place and the people there weren't real, he had to get away, and he had somebody to find and kill.

He looked behind him, at the bathroom door. Vergil was on the other side of that door. His mother was downstairs. No, it wasn't really them. His mother and brother were dead. The ones in that house weren't them. They looked like them, they acted like them, but there weren't them. No matter how much he wished they were.

But maybe he could at least take one last look at them? One last hug? One last word? Tell them how sorry he was, how much he missed them? If he did that, he would lose his chance to get away, his legs would refuse to carry him.

But would it really be that bad to stay and live in a fake world? A world where his mother and brother were alive, and loved him, and they all had breakfast together like a real family? So it wasn't real, did it really matter?

He felt wetness on his cheeks. That stupid fake childish body, it must have been affecting his responses. He angrily wiped the tears away, trying to muffle the sobs and hoping that Vergil-- _the boy with Vergil's face_ didn't hear him and decide to enter to check on him. He couldn't have taken it. He couldn't.

He jumped down. The fall hurt, but thankfully even with a fake childlike body he could still take it. He stood up and set out towards the unknown, forcefully shutting out the sorrowful voice that screamed regret.


End file.
